Stranger in a strange land

As I wrote in last week’s post, my wife and I went to China for a week, specifically to Shanghai, Yiwu and Hangzhou. The trip was the exhilarating and exciting to all senses but left a foreign impression of China.

China is a multifaceted country. As tourists, each day we encountered worlds that we had never seen, each different from each other. In Shanghai, we sat in the cool, peaceful passages of the Yu Garden and were swept along with the mass of people and vehicles, two and four wheeled, to view the lighted buildings in the Bund, the Shanghai river district. We browsed the old-fashioned shops in the Pudong district in Shanghai, unchanged for hundreds of years, and poked our noses in only one building among the massive wholesale complex of the Futian International Trade City in Yiwu, the largest wholesale source of consumer products in the world. Our ears were assaulted by the sounds of the vegetable hawkers at a supermarket (see video below) and soothed by the silence of the tea fields above Long Jing village above Hangzhou. We enjoyed the tastes and smells of an elegant Chinese tea ceremony and encountered rather different ones as we strolled through the food booths at the Yiwunight market.  All this we did with the temperature ranging from 30 – 38 degrees and humidity no less than 90% and quite often even higher. As can be seen from this partial list, no day or even half day was the same in any sense.

China is a completely different country in another way also. When traveling in North America, Europe or even South America, tourists can somehow manage on their own. The locals know enough English or tourists can easily learn the local language to communicate basic ideas while the meanings of both street and store signs can be guestimated. Most cultural rules and norms in the West are similar enough to understand the rules of behavior and even blend in with the locals to one degree or another. The populations and governments accept and even facilitate tourism.

China is another story. The vast majority of Chinese do not know a single word of English, not to mention any other foreign language. Except for stores selling international brands, signs are generally in Chinese, inaccessible for most foreigners, including highway signs. Even "universal" tasks can be difficult. Ordering a meal or telling a taxi driver to go to your hotel is a challenge.  We ordered the same set of drinks from Starbucks three times and received three different pairs of beverages. Finding the "next" button in an overheated, asphyxiating ATM closed cubical is an experience that I will never forget. This inaccessibility goes beyond language. The Chinese have their own rich culture and do not need anybody else’s. The Chinese have their own way of doing many things, generally quite logical even if the logic is not immediately evident to a Western tourist. Even catching a train at the Shanghai Hongqiao train station, would be daunting for the unescorted or unitiated. 

This distance makes it necessary to have an intermediary, a guide of some type. We were lucky to be accompanied either by our daughter or our excellent guide, Aron Long. They opened up the window of China and allowed us to glimpse a tiny bit of China and its culture. The lonely planet hiker would find this country very intimidating and rather inaccessible.

 To make it clear, we had a wonderful, even amazing trip.  I do not regret a single moment and hope to return, albeit not in July. At the same time, I do even fantasize of living there because I could never be a part of Chinese society in any way even if I spoke and wrote Chinese. As Heinlein would way, I would always be a stranger in a strange land.

Travel jitters

I travel abroad every year, mainly to visit family and, more recently, to attend translation conferences.  A meaningful, often the most pleasurable, part of any trip, for better or worse, is the planning, expectations and gut feeling before departure. These often begin months before and slowly develop until suddenly, for me at least, thinking about the trip creates a certain emotional feeling.

This actual feeling can vary. Given that the reasons for my travel do not give me limited options on where I can go, I have experienced emotions ranging from dread to joy.  Prior to attending a conference in Bialystok, Poland, the birthplace of my grandmother, I felt very tense at the mere thought of going to Poland, probably because its legacy for the Jews.  In practice, the conference was excellent but Poland was indeed a complex experience for me emotionally as I saw bits of Poland of yesterday, today and tomorrow. I do not regret that trip at all but it was challenging in that sense.

I fly to LA twice a year.  My feelings about my city of birth have generally been highly negative but have now reached neutrality, a sort of progress.  I didn’t like the place when I was growing up nor do I do today.  However, I can somehow ignore it for two weeks during my parental visits. As Tom Lehrer said in the song National Brotherhood Week, be grateful that it does not last all year.

Last year, my wife and I attended a conference in Valencia, Spain. Aside from the worry on how I would cope with the Spanish, I expected the venue to be a fun place. I am fond of European cities, at least for short visits, and looked forward to the friendly atmosphere.  I was not disappointed.  Spain is indeed a warm country to visit in both meanings of the word. By the way, I coped with the Spanish with no problem thanks to my Italian.

France is my mother’s homeland and dear to my heart.  I lived there on and off for short period and have family there. Unfortunately, the last time I visited was some 9 years ago for my daughter’s bat mitzvah. The mere thought of visiting it sends me into extasy, then and now. My excitement for France may be more nostalgic than reality based but we are planning a long, trip to it once circumstances allow.

I am now flying to China to visit my wife’s daughter. Unfortunately, circumstances limit the trip to a week. So, I and my wife will get a taste of China, which I believe it will be a treat.  We have been told to be ready for a truly foreign experience in terms of way of life, manners, food, etc., unlike any place we have ever been. Psychologically, this trip will be the first time where I will be, as Heinlein wrote, a stranger in a strange land. This sentiment creates some anxiety but also quite a lot of excitement. I go with no concrete expectations apart from seeing the different.

I know that when I get on the train to go the airport, the reality of my upcoming trip will hit me, as always. These jitters are an essential part of the travel experience that I hope never to lose. They say that the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. I cannot imagine not loving to visit new places.

Rice Worship

One way sociologists divide the world is by religion. In other words, they identify the dominant religious belief in an area and analyze its way of life.  Of course, monotheistic religions are distinguished from “pagan” religions.  Even among the same set, such as Christian or Muslim, the faithful and researchers find different branches, which of course argue among themselves on which is the most correct version of the Truth.  Yet, by defining religion only as a belief in out-worldly figures, sociologists miss unofficial religions, those formally not recognized as such but whose presence triggers worship-like behavior.

One of these is rice, the simple grain grown in paddies throughout the world.  Of course, the world has its pagans, who think that rice is a uniform white grain that you cook in water with a bit of a salt or, even worse, a starch packed in a bag that you put in pot of water or, blasphemy,  a microwave.  These pagans, not knowing better, are happy in the ignorance and don’t think twice about the matter.

However, in civilized locations, such as Iran, Iraq, Japan and China, rice defines a person’s approach to life. All rice is not created equal. Various varieties exist, each with its own personality, cooking characteristics and taste. The form of the rice can vary, from unshelled brown to processed short white, with many nuances between them. As for the cooking, an entire theology exists. For example, my ex-Iraqi mother-in-law thoroughly cleaned the rice, lightly fried it and only then boiled it, with the aim, almost never achieved, to have each grain fluffy but separate. Chinese and Japanese, because they use chopsticks, aim for starchy rice that sticks together. Whatever the ideal, properly brought women must master the art of preparing rice as it should be or face family ridicule.  Of course, good sons and husbands, not to mention daughters-in-law, must promptly and sincerely praise the rice each and every time it is served, not an easy feat for someone that didn’t grow up in the culture.

As in theology, praise of your own rice leads to criticism of others.  Faults can involve the selection of rice, the seasoning, the cooking or just the feeling that  “we do it better.” Also as in religion, mothers gain great pleasures seeing their daughters-in-law learn to cook it right, i.e. their way. Converting can be so satisfying. Finally, rice even serves a purpose in death.  Some people are remembered for their cookies (even on tombstones!), but how can that compare with the memory of the taste of your grandmother’s rice? Nobody made rice like her!  Even the bravest fear to contradict that.

So, while extremists in some religions may call  for “death to the unbelievers” and act on it, rice worshippers never call for starvation to potato heads or pasta freaks.  The faithful may disapprove of the atheists but do not become violent.  Rice worship is indeed better than god worship.